Didja ever think "nobody reads my blog, I'll just rant about what I want, it's my blog, where else does it get to be all about me, Al Franken?" Rethink that shit too.

Do you know how many messages I get from people either thrilled or angry about the "veiled messages" they find in what I write that is "obviously about them?" Jesus, dude. It's not about you. It's about me. Seriously. Fuck a duck. I didn't give you a thought, and that goes for everybody. And then that pisses them off more? God, you just can't win.

And did you know that if you rant about it (whatever it is), experts will find you? If you're lucky, they'll understand what you actually said and become cool friends, but goddamn.

What happened to the old days where you could be a cranky old curmudgeon and nobody paid attention to a fucking word you said? Wait, no, that's not quite what I wanted. But sometimes, this shit gets freaky creepy.

So, for the record, for those who are paying attention (and I have no idea why you are), here you go:

I am not actually the Grammar Laurel. Don't even want to be. I don't actually care what's "right" or "wrong." [I hear the sharp hisses of indrawn breath now, and scrabbling for heart pills. Calm down.] I do think speaking a certain way, however competently documented, will mark one as a certain class of stupid. It's how the world is. Wanna do it? Knock yourself out, I don't care. I, however, got the crap beat out of me as a kid for it. [If you are interested in documented language usage, go read gooofy's real blog. Much better.]

You will not find messages to others here. If I write about "hey, I figured out that this is stupid, and in future, I think I'll pull my head out of my ass," I mean "hey, I figured out that this is stupid, and in future, I think I'll pull my head out of my ass," and not "hey, I figured out that you are stupid, and in future, I think you should pull your head out of your ass." Your journey in life is your journey. Go do with it what you will. Again, I don't give a rat's ass. On the other hand, if you find yourself pulling said head out of said ass, and you wish to share that I was your inspiration, I will be happy to celebrate that with you. But it wasn't my intention. Get over yourselves.

I will skip verbage and word things poorly or not to your taste sometimes. Omigod! I didn't give the backstory! I was flip! I didn't see it your way! I'm a bitch! I'm sarcastic! I swear like a pirate with Tourette's at a rap smackdown! I cause milk to curdle in your cows! It was eight hundred guys, and they were all nine feet tall, with flames coming from their heads, and they ate the babies, and I forgot the two goats in the hot tub! Oh, now she thinks she's Genghis Khan! Ur blog, ur doin it rong! Oh, for fuck's sake. Dock my pay.

I would have thought all this shit was obvious. But much like that sign in a hospital delivery room that said "No sex, please," apparently, it wasn't. And to make myself feel better for being such a ranty ill-tempered bitch, I'll end on a different note.Define the word "estabinus." I'll come up with a suitable prize for a good enough winner. ;)

See, not only does she got Mongols covering her back, she's got Vikings (and a couple of crazy Celts). And not all of them have figured out the correct order of rape/pillage/burn. Do not make us come out there and pound some sense into your head.

Do not make Ro mad - you wouldn't like us when she's mad.

Seriously, you're not important enough for Ro to make veiled commentary about. That's not her style - Ro has absolutely no problem letting you know exactly how she feels about anything. Her tongue and her wit are registered as deadly weapons in at least three Kingdoms that I'm aware of. You would do well to consider that fact, lest you find yourself on the wrong end of a verbal evisceration. I've seen it happen; it wasn't pretty.

In case you're still clueless, here's an update on the rules: If a comment is about you, rest assured that your name will be included for reference. After all, if you can't be a shining example, at least you can serve as a horrible warning. If a comment doesn't mention you, then it's not about you. Yes, I know you think the universe revolves around you, so here's a quick update: It doesn't. It never did.

Burn a corner of the town. When all the able-bodied men run to put out the fire,pillage their homes, bundle up the goods, and make the women (and cute men who stayed behind) carry it out as you leave, thenrape at your leisure back at home surrounded by your loot. :)

I actually had half the hallmarks of Tourette's but not enough to get the dx nor did my DNA prove conclusive. I took the meds for it for awhile.

Anyway, it is your fucking blog and yours alone.

I also happen to know it was 1200 big dudes with vorpel blades going snick-snick on the Serengeti. I was the one who brought the goats, you forgot already? (It was in the Tuchux hot tub but I thought that was a seekret)

Also, my psychic powers tell me you ARE Gengis Khan...you really need to keep up with your Shirley McClain and that Brown woman.

Anyway...my Laurel is really not Elizabethan material culture-its cigar rolling. My second ability is making and distributing tinfoil hats. I consider that my contribution to the society-can I get a Pel for that?

Estabinus (n. from the ancient Akkadian, estabbehmeh): Archaic antonym for terminus, q.v. The beginning point of an action whose consequences ripple beyond any logical conclusion that could have been postulated at the point of estabinus. E.G. "Yang had no idea that that day in the Midrealm would be the estabinus of a whole new sub-culture in the SCA."

Now, what was that about grammar laureling? LOL Oh, well, points for presentation, I guess...

Estabinus: A method too horrible to delineate, to be added to defenestration, bastinado, and keelhauling, as a means by which Ro helps adjust the karmic wheel of some butthead that has really pissed her off. In general, it involves many small, sharp knives, and no anesthetic.

Of course you're not Genghis Kahn. He's dead, you are a living legend. And your army is generally a heck of a lot more dangerous than his ever was.

My dear Ro: I've always figured that if you want to talk to me you won't be cryptic or weave it in code within the lines of your musings. I'm pretty sure that you have my email address and know how to use it, you even know my phone number, and I happen to know for a fact that the voice recognition on my phone calls you when it doesn't understand what I said, which means that you appear to be it's favorite person as well.